#Columbia Journalism School

[eretzyisrael]

by Todd Bensman

Columbia University finally sent in the New York Police Department on Tuesday night to clear anti-Israel protesters mouthing pro-Hamas messages.

But DailyMail.com can now reveal that administrators may need to look in-house next if they truly want to clean house.

For a new investigation has uncovered an endorsement of Hamas media outlets in – of all places – Columbia's storied journalism school.

Mounted on either side of the entryway to Pulitzer Hall – named after Joseph Pulitzer, the founder of the university's journalism school and the namesake of the coveted Pulitzer Prize – there is a memorial purporting to honor 'journalists' killed in the Israel-Gaza war.

The honorees were selected from a list compiled by the non-profit Committee to Protect Journalists (CPJ).

However, 21 of the 98 names displayed were employed by Hamas' propaganda TV and radio stations, 11 worked for outlets affiliated with the Palestinian Islamic Jihad terror group, and at least three were active alleged terrorists before their deaths.

The school has not publicized the memorial, but in February Columbia's journalism professor Nina Berman shared a picture of it to her personal Instagram account, accompanied by the following warning: 'Anyone commenting with doubts about the legitimacy of these journalists or suggestions that they are terrorists will be promptly blocked.'

Though while Columbia Journalism School may regard its display as a tribute to 'journalists,' facts suggest otherwise.

Mohamed Khalifeh, a director at 'Al Aqsa Television,' is just one of 15 memorialized names who worked for the Hamas-operated media network operating in Gaza.

In 2010, the Obama administration sanctioned Al Aqsa TV as a terrorist entity.

'Al-Aqsa is a primary Hamas media outlet and airs programs and music videos designed to recruit children to become Hamas armed fighters and suicide bombers upon reaching adulthood,' the US Treasury Department noted.

'[We] will not distinguish between a business financed and controlled by a terrorist group, such as Al-Aqsa Television, and the terrorist group itself,' the department concluded.

[bargainsleuthbooks]

The Lions of Fifth Avenue by Fiona Davis #HistoricalFiction #NYPL

I just got done with a #FionaDavis book not too long ago and knew I had to read more. So I picked up her highly-rated #TheLionsofFifthAvenue and found it a good book. #NYPL #NewYorkPublicLibrary #bookreview #audiobook #suffrage #womensrights #bookreview

It’s 1913, and on the surface, Laura Lyons couldn’t ask for more out of life–her husband is the superintendent of the New York Public Library, allowing their family to live in an apartment within the grand building, and they are blessed with two children. But headstrong, passionate Laura wants more, and when she takes a leap of faith and applies to the Columbia Journalism School, her world is…

[lolgen792]

Last day of fall semester | columbia chronicles

[heritageposts]

The website of the Columbia Law Review, one of the oldest and most prestigious legal journals in the country, has been down since Monday. At the time of this broadcast, ColumbiaLawReview.org shows a static homepage informing visitors that the site is “under maintenance.” Well, that’s not exactly true. In a stunning move, the board of directors of the Columbia Law Review decided to take down the website after the publication’s student editors refused the board’s request to halt the publication of an academic article written by Palestinian human rights lawyer Rabea Eghbariah titled “Toward Nakba as a Legal Concept.” Student editors at the Columbia Law Review say they were pressured by the journal’s board of directors to halt publication of the piece. They refused the request and published the piece online Monday morning. In response, the board, which is made up of faculty and alumni from Columbia University’s law school, shut down the law review’s website. After the website was taken down, student editors uploaded the article to a publicly accessible website, where it’s gone viral. The article begins, “The law does not possess the language that we desperately need to accurately capture the totality of the Palestinian condition. From occupation to apartheid and genocide, the most commonly applied legal concepts rely on abstraction and analogy to reveal particular facets of subordination. This Article introduces Nakba as a legal concept to resolve this tension,” unquote. The article is written by Rabea Eghbariah, a human rights lawyer completing his doctoral studies at Harvard Law School. Last November, the Harvard Law Review refused to publish a similar, shorter article it had solicited from Rabea, even after it was initially accepted, fully edited and fact-checked. In both cases, the article would have been the first time that either the Harvard Law Review or the Columbia Law Review had ever published a Palestinian legal scholar.

The video interview with Eghbariah, a transcript of the interview, and a full copy of the censored article, can be found on Democracy Now (5th of June, 2024).

Here's also a direct link to Eghbariah's article:

“Toward Nakba as a Legal Concept”

[funkopersonal]

Here's your daily reminder that...

Jews are only 0.2% of the worlds population but...

Jews make up 14% of the World Total and 38% of the United States of America total winners for the Nobel Prize for Literature (source).

Of the 965 individual recipients of the Nobel Prize and the Nobel Memorial Prize in Economic Sciences between 1901 and 2023, at least 214 have been Jews or people with at least one Jewish parent, representing 22% of all recipients. (source)

Jews make up 14% of the total winners of the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction 18% of the total winners of the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry; 53% of the total winners of the Pulitzer Prize for Non-Fiction (source).

Jews make up 39% of the total winners of the Antoinette Perry (Tony) Award for Best Play; 54% of the total winners of the Tony Award for Best Book of a Musical (with 62% of all Composers and 66% of all Lyricists of Best Musical-winning productions being Jewish) (source).

Jews make up 40% of the total winners of the Academy Award (Oscar) for Best Original Screenplay; and 34% of the total winners of the Academy Award for Best Adapted Screenplay (source).

Although Jews constitute only 3% of the U.S. population...

80% of the nation’s professional comedians are Jewish (source).

90% of American comic book creators are jewish (source)

38% of the recipients of the United States National Medal of Science are Jewish (Source).

Jews are very successful, with educational levels higher than all other U.S. ethnic groups with the exception of Asian Americans, and income levels the highest of all groups. Six out of ten Jewish adults have college degrees, and 41% of Jewish families report a household income of $75,000 or more” (source)

Jews are a minority across the globe. We've been historically opressed and hated. But these key figures from history are all Jewish and loved, yet many don't even know they're jewish (or they don't know these people in the first place!):

Stan Lee (birth name: Stanley Martin Lieber) - An American comic book writer and editor, Former executive vice president and publisher of marvel Comics, creator of iron-man, spider-man, and more.

Albert Einstein - a Theoretical physicist, Received the 1921 Nobel Prize in Physics, developed the theory of relativity and the "worlds most famous equation"  (E = mc^2), and more.

Ruth Bader Ginsburg - Former Associate Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States, co-authored the initial law school casebook on sex discrimination, co-founded the Women’s Rights Project at the ACLU in 1972, and more.

Jack Kirby (birth name: Jacob Kurtzberg) - an American comic book artist, co-creator of Captain America, one of the most influential comic book artists

Harry Houdini (birth name: Erich Weisz) - a Hungarian-American escape artist, illusionist, and stunt performer, noted for his escape acts.

Emma Lazarus - An American author remembered for her sonnet "The New Colossus," Inspired by The Statue of Liberty and inscribed on its pedestal as of 1903.

Julius Rosenthal, Lillian Wald, Rabbi Emil G. Hirsch, Stephen Wise, and Henry Moskowitz - Jewish activists that helped form the NAACP along with W.E.B. Dubois, Ida B. Wells-Barnett, and Mary Church Terrell.

Mark Zuckerberg - Founder and CEO of Meta, a businessman who co-founded the social media service Facebook, and within four years became the world’s youngest self-made billionaire Harvard alumni.

Joseph Pulitzer - a politician and newspaper publisher, his endowment to the Columbia University established the Pulitzer Prizes in 1917, he founded the Columbia School of Journalism which opened in 1912.

Jacob William Davis - a Latvian tailor who is credited with inventing modern jeans and who worked with Levi Strauss to patent and mass-produce them, died.

Irving Berlin - drafted at age 30 to write morale-boosting songs for military revues (including “God Bless America”). Many Berlin songs remained popular for decades, including “Puttin’ on the Ritz,” “Cheek to Cheek,” “Anything You Can Do (I Can Do Better),” “There’s No Business Like Show Business,” and two celebrating Christian holidays: “White Christmas” and “Easter Parade.”

Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel - received his doctorate in Berlin. He was arrested by the Nazis in 1938, moved to the U.S. in 1940, and became an influential figure in the 1960s, marching with the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. in Selma, Alabama, and speaking out against the Vietnam War.

Elie Wiesel - Romanian-American writer and professor, holocaust survivor, nobel laureate, political activist. Authored 57 books including Night, a work based on his experiences as a Jewish prisoner in the Auschwitz and Buchenwald concentration camps

Bob Dylan - an icon of folk, rock and protest music, won the Nobel Prize in literature for his complex and poetic lyrics.

J. Robert Oppenheimer - ran the Manhattan Project, considered the "father of the atomic Bomb," presented with the Enrico Fermi Award by President Lyndon Johnson.

Betty Friedan - co-founded the National Organization of Women and became its first president, wrote The Feminine Mystique (1963) and helped spark the second wave of feminism.

Gloria Steinem - one of the most prominent feminists of all time, launched Ms. Magazine and co-founded the National Women’s Political Caucus with Bella Abzug, Shirley Chisholm, Betty Friedan and Myrlie Evers-Williams, widow of Medgar Evers.

Sergey Brin - an American businessman best known for co-founding Google with Larry Page, president of Alphabet Inc.

Judith Heumann - a founder of the disability rights movement, led a 26-day sit-in at a federal building in San Francisco. The protest spurred implementation of Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act, a precursor to the Americans with Disabilities Act.

Larry Kramer - co-founded Gay Men’s Health Crisis in response to the AIDS epidemic but was soon ousted over his confrontational activism. He went on to help launch a more strident group, ACT UP, and wrote a critically acclaimed play, The Normal Heart, about the early AIDS years in New York City.

Steven Spielberg - released his critically acclaimed epic film Schindler’s List, based on the true story of a German industrialist who saved Jews during the Holocaust. The movie won seven Oscars and led Spielberg to launch the Shoah Foundation at the University of Southern California, which filmed interviews with 52,000 survivors of the Holocaust and genocides in Nanjing and Rwanda.

Calvin Klein - made designer jeans and the infamous ad starring Brooke Shields revolutionized the fashion industry, sold his company to Phillips-Van Heusen (now PVH) for $430 million. Klein was the first designer to win three consecutive Coty Awards for womenswear.

Daveed Diggs - an American actor, rapper, and singer-songwriter. he originated the dual roles of Marquis de Lafayette and Thomas Jefferson in the musical Hamilton, for which he won a 2016 Tony Award for Best Actor in a Featured Role in a Musical. Along with the main cast of Hamilton, he was awarded a Grammy Award for Best Musical Theater Album in the same year.

And so much more. (a pretty decent list is available here)

Not only that, but the following are all Jewish inventions...

The Teddy Bear - made by Morris and Rose Michtom in honor of Theodore "Teddy" Roosevelt.

The Ballpoint Pen - *the first commercially sucessfull ballpoint pen was made by Lazlo Biro, a Hungarian-Jew, and his brother.

Mobile Phones - made by Martin Cooper, nicknamed the "father of the cellphone", and was born in Chicago to Ukrainian Jewish immigrants.

The Barbie - made by Ruth Marianna Handler, born to Polish-Jewish immigrants.

Power Rangers - made by Haim Saban, a Jewish-Egyptian

Video Games - made by Ralph Baer, a German-Jew

Peeps - made by Sam Born, a Russian-Jewish immigrants who came to the United States in 1909.

Cards Against Humanity - created by a group of Jewish boys from the same high school

Many Superheroes including Superman, Ironman, spider-man, batman, and more!

and more! (an illustrated list available here.)

Conclusion: If you're Jewish, be proud. You come from a long line of successful people. No matter what happened to them, Jews persevered, and they strived for sucess. Be proud of your culture, your history, these are your people. You're Jewish.

(feel free to reblog and add more, or just comment and i'll add it!)

Last Updated: June 25, 1:35 AM EST

[sayruq]

NAHLA AL-ARIAN HAS been living a nightmare for the past seven months, watching from afar as Israel carries out its scorched-earth war against her ancestral homeland in the Gaza Strip. Like many Palestinian Americans, the 63-year-old retired fourth-grade teacher from Tampa Bay, Florida, has endured seven months of a steady trickle of WhatsApp messages about the deaths of her relatives. “You see, my father’s family is originally from Gaza, so they are a big family. And they are not only in Gaza City, but also in Deir al Balah and Khan Younis, other parts,” Al-Arian told me. Recently, the trickle of horrors became a flood: “It started with like 27, and then we lost count until I received this message from my relative who said at least 200 had died.” The catastrophe was the backdrop for Al-Arian’s visit last week to Columbia University in New York City. Al-Arian has five children, four of whom are journalists or filmmakers. On April 25, two of her daughters, Laila and Lama, both award-winning TV journalists, visited the encampment established by Columbia students to oppose the war in Gaza. Laila, an executive producer at Al Jazeera English with Emmys and a George Polk Award to her name, is a graduate of Columbia’s journalism school. Lama was the recipient of the prestigious 2021 Alfred I. duPont–Columbia Award for her reporting for Vice News on the 2020 explosion at the port of Beirut. The two sisters traveled to Columbia as journalists to see the campus, and Nahla joined them. “Of course, I tagged along. You know, why would I sit at the hotel by myself? And I wanted to really see those kids. I felt so down,” she said. “I was crying every day for Gaza, for the children being killed, for the women, the destruction of my father’s city, so I wanted to feel better, you know, to see those kids. I heard a lot about them, how smart they are, how organized, you know? So I said, let’s go along with you. So I went.” Nahla Al-Arian was on the campus for less than an hour. She sat and listened to part of a teach-in, and shared some hummus with her daughters and some students. Then she left, feeling a glimmer of hope that people — at least these students — actually cared about the suffering and deaths being inflicted on her family in Gaza. “I didn’t teach them anything. They are the ones who taught me. They are the ones who gave me hope,” she recalled. “I felt much better when I went there because I felt those kids are really very well informed, very well educated. They are the conscience of America. They care about the Palestinian people who they never saw or got to meet.” Her husband posted a picture of Nahla, sitting on the lawn at the tent city erected by the student protesters, on his Twitter feed. “My wife Nahla in solidarity with the brave and very determined Columbia University students,” he wrote. Nahla left New York, inspired by her visit to Columbia, and returned to Virginia to spend time with her grandchildren. A few days later, that one tweet by her husband would thrust Nahla Al-Arian into the center of a spurious narrative promoted by the mayor of New York City and major media outlets. She became the exemplar of the dangerous “outside agitator” who was training the students at Columbia. It was Nahla’s presence, according to Mayor Eric Adams, that was the “tipping point” in his decision to authorize the military-style raids on the campus.

On February 20, 2003, Nahla’s husband, Sami Al-Arian, a professor at the University of South Florida, was arrested and indicted on 53 counts of supporting the armed resistance group Palestinian Islamic Jihad. The PIJ had been designated by the U.S. government as a terrorist organization, and the charges against Al-Arian could have put him in prison for multiple life sentences, plus 225 years. It was a centerpiece case of the George W. Bush administration’s domestic “war on terror.” When John Ashcroft, Bush’s notorious attorney general, announced the indictment, he described the Florida-based scholar as “the North American leader of the Palestinian Islamic Jihad, Sami Al-Arian.” Among the charges against him was conspiracy to kill or maim persons abroad, specifically in Israel, yet the prosecutors openly admitted Al-Arian had no connection to any violence. He was a well-known and deeply respected figure in the Tampa community, where he and Nahla raised their family. He was also, like many fellow Palestinians, a tenacious critic of U.S. support for Israel and of the burgeoning “global war on terror.” His arrest came just days before the U.S. invaded Iraq, a war Al-Arian was publicly opposed to. The Al-Arian case was, at its core, a political attack waged by Bush’s Justice Department as part of a wider assault on the rights of Muslims in the U.S. The government launched a campaign, echoed in media outlets, to portray Al-Arian as a terror leader at a time when the Bush administration was ratcheting up its so-called global war on terror abroad, and when Muslims in the U.S. were being subjected to harassment, surveillance, and abuse. The legal case against Al-Arian was flimsy, and prosecutors largely sought to portray his protected First Amendment speech and charitable activities as terrorism. The trial against Al-Arian, a legal permanent resident in the U.S., did not go well for federal prosecutors. In December 2005, following a six-month trial, a jury acquitted him on eight of the most serious counts and deadlocked 10-2 in favor of acquittal on the other nine. The judge made clear he was not pleased with this outcome, and the prosecutors were intent on relitigating the case. Al-Arian had spent two years in jail already without any conviction and was staring down the prospect of years more. In the face of this reality and the toll the trial against him had taken on his family, Al-Arian agreed to take a plea deal. In 2006, he pleaded guilty to one count of providing nonviolent support to people the government alleged were affiliated with the PIJ. As part of the deal, Al-Arian would serve a short sentence and, with his residency revoked, get an expedited deportation. At no point during the government’s trial against Al-Arian did the prosecution provide evidence he was connected to any acts of violence. For the next eight years following his release from prison in 2008, Al-Arian was kept under house arrest and effectively subjected to prosecutorial harassment as the government sought to place him in what his lawyers characterized as a judicial trap by compelling him to testify in a separate case. His defense lawyers alleged the federal prosecutor in the case, who had a penchant for pursuing high-profile, political cases, held an anti-Palestinian bias. Amnesty International raised concerns that Al-Arian had been abused in prison and he faced the prospect of yet another lengthy, costly court battle. The saga would stretch on for several more years before prosecutors ended the case and Al-Arian was deported from the United States.

“This case remains one of the most troubling chapters in this nation’s crackdown after 9-11,” Al-Arian’s lawyer, Jonathan Turley, wrote in 2014 when the case was officially dropped. “Despite the jury verdict and the agreement reached to allow Dr. Al-Arian to leave the country, the Justice Department continued to fight for his incarceration and for a trial in this case. It will remain one of the most disturbing cases of my career in terms of the actions taken by our government.” That federal prosecutors approved Al-Arian’s plea deal gave a clear indication that the U.S. government knew Al-Arian was not an actual terrorist, terrorist facilitator, or any kind of threat; the Bush administration, after all, was not in the habit of letting suspected terrorists walk. Al-Arian and his family have always maintained his innocence and say that he was being targeted for his political beliefs and activism on behalf of Palestinians. He resisted the deal, Nahla Al-Arian said. “He didn’t even want to accept it. He wanted to move on with another trial,” Nahla said. “But because of our pressure on him, let’s just get done with it [because] in the end, we’re going leave anyway. So that’s why.” Sami and Nahla Al-Arian now live in Turkey. Sami is not allowed to visit his children and grandchildren stateside, but Nahla visits often.

[woman1festo]

big info post about the Maryland mall shooting and the shooter, Darion Aguilar.

( i have compiled this post in my notes from all different news articles, sources and google searches. it wasn't too easy to find much, but i hope this is enough insight/info.)

Darion Aguilar was a 19 year old, as described by his mother as a as 'a gentle, sweet kid' who has never been interested in guns.

'If you were to go in his room you would see what a gentle sweet kid he was,' she said, adding that he was a vegetarian because he was concerned about animal welfare.

He was also described as a "good kid" who "is quiet, kept to himself. Nice, normal, calm demeanor."

That was until January 25, 2014. He took a taxi around 10:15am, then he had entered the The Mall in Columbia where he was dropped off.

He went downstairs to a food court directly below the store, authorities say surveillance tapes show him sitting and walking around for nearly an hour. this may have been due to the fact that he was obsessed with the Columbine shooting. it's suspected that he waited until the time of the shooting had lined up to the original one in 1999.

(Investigators found thousands of searches on Aguilar's computer related to mass murder, school shootings, guns and explosives.

He also looked up websites for people with mental health problems, and he told a doctor he was hearing voices in the months before the shooting.)

Reports have said that Aguilar took a picture of himself inside the dressing room at Zumiez in the minutes leading up to the shooting and posted the photo to tumblr with a caption reading,

"I had to do this. Today is the day. On previous days I tried this I woke up with anxiety, regret and hope for a better future this day I didn't, I woke up felt no emotions no empathy no sympathy. I will have freedom or maybe not. I could care less."

It was said in mentioned selfie that some of way he is dressed, wearing a white t-shirt, boots and cargo pants with his shotgun in a sling around him, is reminiscent of one of the Columbine killers.

Police say he bought a shotgun last month – a 12-gauge Mossberg – and kept it hidden as a taxi cab dropped him off at the mall. before exiting the dressing room, Aguilar dumped his backpack out, changed his clothes and assembled the gun.

As soon as Aguilar stepped out, he raised his gun, took a few steps, aimed at his first victim, Brainna Belolo (21), and fired, killing her instantly.

He continued on to aim at his next victim, Tyler Johnson (25) , who was said to be near the front of the store, hitting him multiple times. he also died instantly.

Aguilar then stepped out of the store and fired two shots across the mall on the upper railing. One struck a railing while the other struck a woman in the heel. He then turned towards the food court, fired one shot and struck a wall right outside the Great American Cookie store, very narrowly missing more victims.

Next Aguilar turned back to Zumiez and fired through the glass at a mannequin before re-entering Zumiez, sticking the shotgun in his mouth and shooting, killing him instantly.

A total of nine shots were fired by Aguilar, out of the 54 rounds of ammunition he brought with him. The backpack he had with him contained homemade explosives, most likely made with fireworks, but were not powerful enough to cause major structural damage, police said.

"(Aguilar) was just silent. Focused. There was no sort of expression or emotion," an eyewitness recalled.

Despite officers arrived less than two minutes after the first 911 call, they entered to find Aguilar dead.

Desperately searching for a motive, police discovered his journal, which was about 20 handwritten loose-leaf pages in roughly chronological order. In a portion police released, Aguilar makes an angry, expletive-laced statement in which he anticipates the killings in "a couple of hours."

"I'm going to [fucking] kill you all in a couple hours I'm anxious, I hate you all so much you are pathetic pieces of [shit] who deserve to die. Worthless you all are [fucking] worthless. Everything seems fake. I think that I may already be dead," one journal entry read.

He apologized to his family for what he was about to do, that he wrote he was ready to die, that he wanted to die and hated others. He never mentioned to his family that he needed any help for his mental illness. While he talks about killing people, he never gave any specific targets.

Sources say it also shows a hatred of certain groups and a general unhappiness with life. 

[memecucker]

Student editors at the Columbia Law Review say they were pressured by the journal’s board of directors to halt publication of an academic article written by a Palestinian human rights lawyer that accuses Israel of committing genocide in Gaza and upholding an apartheid regime.

When the editors refused the request and published the piece Monday morning, the board — made up of faculty and alumni from Columbia University’s law school — shut down the law review’s website entirely. It remained offline Tuesday evening, a static homepage informing visitors the domain “is under maintenance.”

The episode at one of the country’s oldest and most prestigious legal journals marks the latest flashpoint in an ongoing debate about academic speech that has deeply divided students, staff and college administrators since the start of the Israel-Hamas war.

[postitforward]

Mental Health Spotlight: Jasmine Marie, Founder of black girls breathing®

Jasmine Marie is a speaker, breathwork practitioner, and the founder of black girls breathing®. Her work is innovating the wellness, healthcare, and research industry by making mental health services accessible to Black women while filling in the gaps of data and research available on this underserved and underrepresented demographic. Marie plans to impact one million Black women and girls with her work by 2025. She is a serial founder with a past life in global haircare brand marketing and an alum of NYU Stern. The impact and range of her work to date is expansive—ranging from underserved minority communities to stressed-out college students and executives. She’s brought her expertise to elite colleges such as Harvard Business School, Columbia University, and Cornell University, and her client list includes corporations such as Estée Lauder Companies, Under Armour, Capital One, Ford Motor Company, Facebook, and Twitter. Marie has been featured in Oprah Magazine, Good Morning America, VOGUE, Forbes, Harper’s Baazar, Marie Claire, Glamour, Nylon Mag, Wall Street Journal, and Black Enterprise, to name a few.

What is black girls breathing®? And why was it created? black girls breathing® is a safe space for Black women to manage their mental and emotional health and heal trauma in their bodies with breathwork and community.

I created black girls breathing® after finishing my breathwork training and seeing so few facilitators that looked like me yet knowing how much chronic stress and trauma (generational, societal, etc.) and decided to create it. I used my background in business to help me develop a model where we could provide this work accessibly.

Do you have any secret hobbies, skills, or interests?

I don’t think I have any secret hobbies but for a while, I would always feel embarrassed whenever anyone asked that question, as a lot of my hobbies can maybe seem boring to others lol. But I love to read. Reading is one of my favorite hobbies. I love having quiet time…any activity that allows me to feel refreshed, sit with my own thoughts and enjoy my solitude. I think because I deal with so many people’s energy that in my spare time, I just like to spend time with self. I love to cook though…it’s a very meditative activity for me that allows me to unwind from my day.

How did you get started in this work? And why is it important to you?

As mentioned above, after my breathwork training, I realized there were so few Black breathworkers. But before that, I found breathwork while being stressed out after graduating from business school at NYU and working in beauty in NYC. My nervous system was so fried I began having physical symptoms…rashes and an inability to sleep. The doctor would see me and always say, “This is stress. How can you reduce your stress?” Fast forward to me finding my first breathwork class and falling in love with the way it allowed me to just feel more space in my mind and body.

WOW — ONE MILLION Black women and girls breathing by 2025 what an ambitious goal! What impact do you see this having?

It is an ambitious goal, but in 2020, we fundraised $55k to make our work accessible for one year. After the year was done, it was so clear that we couldn’t stop there. So many Black women needed this work, and we would hear that over and over again. So I decided if I was going to do this work, I was only interested in creating real impact and a goal that would signify that. Imagining 1 Million Black women using breathwork as a tool to regulate their nervous systems, heal from compounded trauma and reduce the effect that chronic stress has in our community (health challenges linked to chronic stress: heart disease, high blood pressure, breast cancer, ovarian cancer, fertility issues, and the list goes on) will not only affect them but our community as a whole. Ending the passing down of generational trauma and normalizing healing.

What would you suggest to people who feel like they cannot find the time to breathe or practice mindfulness?

I would first affirm that it’s okay they feel that way. Western society has done a great job of making us feel that anything outside of productivity is not only a waste of time but the least important thing we should make space for. Making time for yourself for any mindful activity can be eased into and it can start with being more aware of the present moment and practicing that action on a daily. Maybe you create a routine where every morning for 3 minutes right when you get up, you take a moment to be still, notice your breathing pattern and focus on each and every inhale and exhale.

Why is Black representation important in this industry?

The wellness industry isn’t unlike other industries where Black representation is lacking. I think it’s important to see other Black women caring for themselves because, historically, we’ve been taught to do the opposite for oh so long.

Where do you find joy?

I find joy with my family and my loved ones, in intimate moments with friends, in good food and conversation, and in being able to create something and see it grow, shift, and evolve.

Want to learn more about black girls @blackgirlsbreathing?

Check out their website!

Breathe with us on March 27th @12pm EDT during their Mindful Monday Breathwork for Anxiety session on Tumblr Live

Ask black girls breathing all the questions on your mind for IssueTime on Navigating Anxiety in an increasingly digital, lonely world

Take the pledge with black girls breathing®

[songforeddiemunson]

Haunting in Blackwood Hollow Part 2

An Eddie Munson x F!Reader Miniseries

Series Summary: It’s the year 1991. Eddie and reader check into a rented house in the Appalachian woods, joined by Nancy, Jonathan, Steve, and Robin. Unfortunately for our gang, things in Blackwood Hollow are never as they appear.

Tropes: established relationship, Jonathan x Nancy, no mention of the events from ST, smut, comedy, fluff, scares, bit of whump (but nothing too crazy)

Series Warnings: Swearing, drinking and weed use, sexual and scary situations, minors please DNI.

Chapter Two: Fool Me Once

Chapter warnings: naughty language, mentions of drinking, weed use. Smut, p in v sex, bit rough (you like it) wrap it before you tap it. Spooky situations

Author's Note: Thanks so much for the smut inspo, @hiscrimsonangel (with this post haha iykyk)

Word Count: ~3K

PART ONE

You stayed up quite late that first night catching up with your old friends, drinking cans of pilsner or oversweet margarita mix from sticky solo cups, laughing your asses off, the ouija board forgotten and back in its box. No longer a big fan of heavy drinking yourself, you cut yourself off after just a few drinks, preferring the more mellow buzz of herb than bubbles. 

Jonathan got quite drunk, which was a riot, and his friendly ribbing of Steve always increased in that state, to the delight of everyone in the room. Despite Steve’s history with Nancy (and subsequently Jonathan), the three of them managed to become great friends. 

Robin bemoaned what she referred to as her perpetual spinsterhood, making you all laugh; “I don’t think you can legally call yourself a spinster at 23,” Steve said. “Just enjoy not being tied down yet,” he finished, causing the rest of the room to tease him for projecting, considering he couldn’t seem to find his one-and-only either (but he pretended he didn’t mind, fooling nobody). 

Steve dated plenty, but Robin struggled with it more than he did for obvious reasons. The two of them were roommates for a time in Indianapolis before going their separate ways. The catalyst; one of Steve’s hookups once implied she would like Robin to join them in the bedroom, which horrified them both so much they ultimately got separate places but still lived on the same block. Robin managed a coffee shop and spoke about her wish to try out for the Indianapolis Philharmonic, which thrilled her but made her so nervous she became nauseated whenever she thought about it for too long. Steve had been employed as a junior high school basketball coach for the past year and decided he would like to go back to school for academic sports; he loved working with the kids.

Nancy filled in the group regarding her grad school studies at Columbia University in New York City for journalism. It was hard work but, true to form, Nancy was excelling, and she had a bright future in print journalism in the city. Jonathan had relocated to be with her and was working as a freelance photographer when he wasn’t working in the kitchen of a popular Brooklyn restaurant. He had ultimately decided not to pursue college and chose to support Nancy instead, thinking that would be the best chance for them as a couple. It caused a lot of friction at first, with Nancy initially pushing Jonathan to go to college, but they were able to work through it and had come out stronger.

After high school Eddie had tried his hand at being a musician, mechanic, bartender and assorted other odd jobs with limited success, and ultimately decided to attend vocational school to become a tattoo artist, which was truly his calling. All the doodles he made for Corroded Coffin and the Hellfire Club paid off, and he was one of the most sought-after ink artists in St. Louis, earning enough for the two of you to live in a nice apartment, despite your modest salary as an administrative assistant for a dentist’s office.  

You were all thriving, and it was wonderful to celebrate each other’s successes. The wedding rehearsal was the following evening, and you looked forward to catching up with the younger kids there– “kids” who were all legal adults by this time; a fact that none of you could believe nor enjoyed thinking about. You were all relieved that you weren’t staying with them, despite the less than ideal location in which you found yourselves; those kids were like a pack of ferrets on cocaine, especially when they were all together. It would be too much, so you stuck with your own age bracket.

Finally, around two in the morning, Robin decided to turn in. Nancy and Jonathan followed about fifteen minutes later, leaving you and Eddie alone with Steve.

You stretched and yawned. “I think it’s time for bed. You coming Eddie?”

Eddie waggled his eyebrows at you. “I don’t know, am I?” he asked, his voice dripping with hyperbolic innuendo.

You laughed and gave him a smack on his tightly bedenimed rear end. “Just get moving, Munson.” 

“Yes ma’am,” he saluted, while Steve rolled his eyes.

It turns out that mercifully, someone did actually change the sheets.

A blessing, honestly, considering you were currently tangled up in them, with the sharp bones of Eddie’s pelvis almost painfully pressing into the soft flesh of your thighs. The bed, old and squeaky with a metal frame that resembled something out of a cold war era prison, was a loud testament to the rhythm of your sex. You couldn’t be bothered to care much, since it felt incredible. The few cans of PBR you had chugged didn’t hurt either.

Eddie had you pinned to the mattress, caged between his arms as he nuzzled and suckled your neck, punctuating soft kisses with nips that would surely leave a mark. You enjoyed it like this sometimes, when he would manhandle you just a bit, claiming you, marking you, and fucking you roughly into the mattress. Sure, there was a time and place for soft lovemaking, but sometimes, you just wanted to be nailed.

“Feel so good baby,” he murmured into your ear, barely more than an exhalation, most of his efforts being concentrated on slamming his cock into your depths. You could barely do more than wiggle and squeal with the way he had you immobilized, which seemed to heighten every sensation. Even his breathy little grunts and gasps were sending you into the stratosphere. You clawed at his back, and the resulting moan in your ear helped bring on climax number three, and you bit into Eddie’s shoulder to stifle your cries.

Eddie’s pace began to falter, and he grasped your waist roughly with his fingers as he shuddered and thrust to his own completion, ending with a final grind of his hips against your sensitive clit, making you yelp. “Ha,” he burst triumphantly; he could be a cocky shit when it came to the pleasures he could draw out of you. He also wasn’t wrong. 

After a tender kiss, Eddie rolled off of you and retrieved his boxers from the floor, sliding them on before fumbling around on the bedside table for his smokes.  He lay back down with his back propped up against the pillow, lighting a cigarette and sighing contentedly. He looked at you and grinned.

“You think everyone heard us?”

You chuckled. “I don’t see how they couldn’t,” you said, as you dressed in a tank top and sweatpants. “This bed is so squeaky, it almost wasn’t worth even trying to be quiet.” 

Eddie laughed. “You sound so cute though when you try,” he said as he flicked his ash into the ashtray on his nightstand. “All squeaky and whiny,” he finished with a wink.

“How dare you,” you joked. “I’m a vision of propriety.”

“Properly fucked, you mean.”

“Eddie!” you scolded, laughing.

“I’ll take it back when it stops being true darlin.’” 

“You’re the worst,” you countered.

“You love me,” he said.

“Dammit, you’re right, I do,” you said. You bent to kiss him, and as you pressed your lips to his, you felt him smile.

“I love you too babe,” he said. 

It was incredible, how he could still make your heart beat faster after all this time.

You headed into the ensuite bathroom and started to go through your usual bedtime routine of brushing your teeth and washing your face. You were suddenly struck by how exhausted you were; between traveling, cleaning, drinking (and smoking) and some vigorous sex, you were thoroughly spent. You glimpsed through the open bathroom door that Eddie had picked up his paperback of Needful Things, and was reading it by the light of the table lamp.

You clicked off the bathroom light and were just about to exit when something caught your eye out of the window. You peered closer to the thick glass to get a better look.  

There was someone standing below on the lawn.

You couldn’t make out any details, but you had the sudden, hair-raising sense that whoever it was was looking right at you.

You jumped backward in alarm.  "Eddie!” you shouted. 

He was out of bed and by your side in an instant. “What?!  A rat?  Why are you standing in the dark, babe?”  He peered around the room intently.

“No, down there!”  You pointed out the window, down onto the grass, but now the figure was gone.  “But…but it was there a second ago…”

Eddie bent to the glass for a closer look, brows furrowed.  "I don’t see anything. What was it?“

"A person! They were definitely standing down there. And babe– I swear it was looking at me.”

A look of intense wariness crossed his features, and he straightened, all business.  "Are you sure?“

"Yes! It was right there!”

“Stay here.”  He was out of the bathroom like a shot. He quickly pulled on his flannel pajama pants and strode from the bedroom.  You waited with your heart in your throat as you heard the front door below you creak open.  You watched out the window as Eddie came into view on the lawn, carrying a fireplace poker in one hand. He clicked on a flashlight and began to sweep the property with it.  It was late, and the shadows from the trees that peppered the property created long ribbons of darkness across the grass that the lights from the house were unable to penetrate.  You realized that it must have been difficult for Eddie to see out there, even armed with a flashlight, and you broke into gooseflesh at the thought.

Screw this, I’m not leaving him alone out there, you thought to yourself, and left the bathroom.  Eddie hadn’t turned on any of the lights in his wake, and in the darkness the house had taken on an even more sinister quality than when you had arrived. You tried to push it out of your mind, dismissing it as the aftershock from your scare. It permeated regardless, with a nearly palpable weight. You hurried downstairs and toward the front door, clicking on lights as you went.  The downstairs area was deserted; everyone else must have also turned in. You quickly scanned the entry area for a weapon, finding only an umbrella. It would have to do.

You stepped outside, eyes sweeping the lawn for Eddie, hearing only crickets as you peered into the trees. In the moments since you had taken your eyes off of him he had disappeared from view. Your heart was pounding and your breath misted around you in the chilly night air.  You crept forward slowly, and you found that your eyes were having difficulty adjusting to the darkness. The shadows were too inconsistent. Anyone could be watching me from those trees and I’d never know it, you thought. Dammit babe, where did you go? 

“Babe?” you called softly.  Silence. “Eddie,” you called again, a little louder this time. Was that a twig snapping?

“What?” said a voice, from directly behind you.

You squeaked with fright and whirled, striking out with the umbrella.  "Ow, what the fuck?!“ Eddie bent forward, clutching his head.

"Oh my fucking god Eddie! You scared me!”

He rubbed his head in irritation where you had whacked him, mussing up his curls. “What are you doing out here? I asked you to stay inside!”

“I’m sorry! I couldn’t just stand there waiting for you. Are you alright?” you stood on your toes to get a better look at your boyfriend’s scalp, but thankfully there was no blood.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said, then sighed resignedly.  "I didn’t see anything in front, so I circled round the back to be sure. There’s nothing out here that I can see.  Are you sure you saw someone?“

"Positive.”

“Your eyes couldn’t have been playing tricks on you?”

“Edward,” you said, your voice taking on an acerbic tone. “You know I’m not prone to hysterics.”

“Fair enough,” he shrugged, and hugged you to him.  "Maybe it was Steve or something.”

“If it was, where is he now? I didn’t see anyone when I came downstairs.”

Eddie could only shrug at that.

Once back inside, he bolted the front door. "Seems solid,” he said.  He went around the house and checked to be sure all the windows and the back door were locked, and when he was satisfied, you went back to the bedroom together.  As you passed Jonathan and Nancy’s room, Jonathan opened the door and poked his head out, his hair mussed and sticking up in every direction.  

“Someone scream?” he mumbled blearily.

“Eddie saw a spider, go back to bed,” you said. Eddie shot daggers at you with his eyes, but a slight upward curl of his lips belied his irritation. Jonathan only nodded and closed his door.

Back in your own room, you undressed and crawled under the covers, snuggling up to Eddie.

It was quiet for a moment, but the wheels in your mind were still turning. “Maybe it was just a local cutting across the lawn on the way somewhere. They may not be used to the house being occupied,” you offered.

"Maybe,” Eddie replied, but he didn’t sound convinced. “Will the light bother you if I read for a while?” he asked.

“Not at all,” you said.  "Going to sleep with the light on will be okay with me tonight.”

The following morning you shuffled downstairs for breakfast, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as your housemates warmed up the oatmeal or ate the boxed cereals that Nancy helpfully supplied the previous evening.

“Did anyone see or hear anything strange last night?” you asked the group as you poured yourself a cup of hot coffee.

“I think I did,” Steve began. “Some sort of instrument I think. What was that Robin?”

“Bedsprings,” Robin stated simply as she swallowed a bite of peaches ‘n cream flavored oatmeal, looking the worse for wear.

“Uh, besides that,” you said, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks. Eddie laughed.

“Don’t hate,” he said.

“I heard Eddie scream at a spider,” Jonathan said, and this time it was your turn to laugh.

“It was NOT me, and it was not a fucking spider!” Eddie yelled, offended by the notion.

“No,” you said, quelling your giggles. “It was actually me. I– I thought I saw someone outside last night, watching me when I was getting ready for bed.”

Steve sat forward, suddenly wide awake. “Wait, really?”

You nodded. “Eddie went out to look for whoever it was but he didn’t find anything.”

“Oh shit,” Robin said, “that’s the last thing I needed to hear. Can we go to a hotel now?”

“I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation,” Nancy said. “Maybe it was just a local?”

“The nearest neighbors are a quarter mile away,” you said. 

“I dunno,” Jonathan chimed in, “you hear stories about cannibals living in the woods in Appalachia…”

“That’s a gross stereotype,” Robin scolded.

“Feel free to ignore him,” Nancy said with a sigh.

“My mom was from Appalachia!” Eddie spat.

“Okay, nevermind,” Jonathan said, as he shrank down in his seat and went back to his oatmeal.

“Well if it wasn’t a local, what could it have been?” Steve asked.

“Maybe messing with the ouija board woke something up,” Robin said, and though you normally didn’t place much stock in those things, you felt something akin to an ice cold finger trail down your spine. You shivered.

Steve chuckled. “You can’t be serious.”

“No really!” Robin cried defensively. “In the movie Witchbo–”

“I am not using a shitty 80s horror film as a guidebook!” Steve shouted.

“Whatever,” Robin said. “If you guys get murdered by an evil axe-wielding ouija spirit, you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You laughed it off along with everyone else, yet the idea wouldn’t leave you. It was unsettling, to put it mildly.

Unbeknownst to you, Eddie was studying your expression. You did always wear your emotions on your sleeve, and he could sense your unease.

“So,” Eddie said. "What’s everyone wearing to the wedding?"

His umber eyes slid over to yours as the conversation devolved into fashion and hairstyling chatter.

Thank you, you mouthed to your boyfriend, and his Mona Lisa smile wordlessly said, I’ve got you. And he did, that much you would never be unsure about. Regardless of what was happening in your life, Eddie Munson would always have your back, which made you feel very lucky indeed. 

You didn’t know it yet, but it was a sentiment you would come to rely upon much more in the days to come. 

To Be Continued...

More is coming! As always, comments and reblogs are the lifeblood of every fic writer!

MASTERLIST

[books]

Writer Spotlight: Elise Hu

We recently met with Elise Hu (@elisegoeseast) to discuss her illuminating title, Flawless—Lessons in Looks and Culture from the K-Beauty Capital. Elise is a journalist, podcaster, and media start-up founder. She’s the host of TED Talks Daily and host-at-large at NPR, where she spent nearly a decade as a reporter. As an international correspondent, she has reported stories from more than a dozen countries and opened NPR’s first-ever Seoul bureau in 2015. Previously, Elise helped found The Texas Tribune, a nonprofit digital start-up, after stops at many stations as a television news reporter. Her journalism work has won the national Edward R. Murrow and duPont Columbia awards, among others. An honors graduate of the University of Missouri School of Journalism, she lives in Los Angeles.

Can you begin by telling us a little bit about how Flawless came to be and what made you want to write about K-beauty?

It’s my unfinished business from my time in Seoul. Especially in the last year I spent living in Korea, I was constantly chasing the latest geopolitical headlines (namely, North Korean leader Kim Jong Un’s big moves that year). It meant I didn’t get to delve into my nagging frustrations of feeling second-class as an Asian woman in Korea and the under-reported experiences of South Korean women at the time. They were staging record-setting women’s rights rallies during my time abroad in response to a stark gender divide in Korea. It is one of the world’s most influential countries (and the 10th largest economy) and ranks shockingly low on gender equality metrics. That imbalance really shows up in what’s expected of how women should look and behave. Flawless explores the intersection of gender politics and beauty standards.

Flawless punctuates reportage with life writing, anchoring the research within your subjective context as someone who lived in the middle of it but also had an outside eye on it. Was this a conscious decision before you began writing? 

I planned to have fewer of my personal stories in the book, actually. Originally, I wanted to be embedded with South Korean women and girls who would illustrate the social issues I was investigating, but I wound up being the narrative thread because of the pandemic. The lockdowns and two years of long, mandatory quarantines in South Korea meant that traveling there and staying for a while to report and build on-the-ground relationships was nearly impossible. I also have three small children in LA, so the embedding plan was scuttled real fast.

One of the central questions the book asks of globalized society at large, corporations, and various communities is, “What is beauty for?” How has your response to this question changed while producing Flawless? 

I think I’ve gotten simultaneously more optimistic and cynical about it. More cynical in that the more I researched beauty, the more I understood physical beauty as a class performance—humans have long used it to get into rooms—more power in relationships, social communities, economically, or all of the above at once. And, as a class performance, those with the most resources usually have the most access to doing the work it takes (spending the money) to look the part, which is marginalizing for everyone else and keeps lower classes in a cycle of wanting and reaching. On the flip side, I’m more optimistic about what beauty is for, in that I have learned to separate beauty from appearance: I think of beauty in the way I think about love or truth, these universal—and largely spiritual—ideas that we all seek, that feed our souls. And that’s a way to frame beauty that isn’t tied in with overt consumerism or having to modify ourselves at all. 

This is your first book—has anything surprised you in the publishing or publicity process for Flawless?

I was most surprised by how much I enjoyed recording my own audiobook! I felt most in flow and joyful doing that more than anything else. Each sentence I read aloud was exactly the way I heard it in my head when I wrote it, which is such a privilege to have been able to do as an author.

Do you have a favorite reaction from a reader? 

I don’t know if it’s the favorite, but recency bias is a factor—I just got a DM this week from a woman writing about how the book helped put into words so much of what she felt and experienced, despite the fact she is not ethnically Korean, or in Korea, which is the setting of most of the book. It means a lot to me that reporting or art can connect us and illuminate shared experiences…in this case, learning to be more embodied and okay with however we look. 

As a writer, journalist, and mother��how did you practice self-care when juggling work commitments, social life, and the creative processes of writing and editing?

I juggled by relying on my loved ones. I don’t think self-care can exist without caring for one another, and that means asking people in our circles for help. A lot of boba dates, long walks, laughter-filled phone calls, and random weekend trips really got me through the arduous project of book writing (more painful than childbirth, emotionally speaking). 

What is your writing routine like, and how did the process differ from your other reporting work? Did you pick up any habits that you’ve held on to? 

My book writing routine was very meandering, whereas my broadcast reporting and writing are quite linear. I have tight deadlines for news, so it’s wham, bam, and the piece is out. With the book, I had two years to turn in a manuscript. I spent the year of lockdowns in “incubation mode,” where I consumed a lot of books, white papers, articles, and some films and podcasts, just taking in a lot of ideas to see where they might collide with each other and raise questions worth reporting on, letting them swim around in the swamp of my brain. When I was ready to write, I had a freelance editor, the indefatigable Carrie Frye, break my book outline into chunks so I could focus on smaller objectives and specific deadlines. Chunking the book so it didn’t seem like such a massive undertaking helped a lot. As for the writing, I never got to do a writer’s retreat or some idyllic cabin getaway to write. I wrote in the in-between moments—a one or two hour window when I had a break from the TED conference (which I attend every year as a TED host) or in those moments after the kids’ bedtime and before my own. One good habit I got into was getting away from my computer at midday. I’m really good about making lunch dates or going for a run to break up the monotony of staring at my screen all day long.

What’s good advice you’ve received about journalism that you would pass on to anyone just starting out?

All good reporting comes from great questions. Start with a clear question you seek to answer in your story, project, or book, and stay true to it and your quest to answer it. Once you are clear on what the thing is about, you won’t risk wandering too far from your focal point.

Thanks to Elise for answering our questions! You can follow her over at @elisegoeseast and check out her book Flawless here!

[perseephoneee]

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓥

In which, you, a lady of the ton, are forced to participate in courting season. Except that courting season comes with one particularly silver tongued Prince who is making it his mission to drive you absolutely insane.

↳ fic masterlist  ↳ ship exchange ↳ taglist

a/n: i'm so sorry for the delay in this. i was in spain this past month, and then i was finishing out my classes before i graduate!!! i am graduating this next Saturday with my bachelors which is crazy. and then i'm off to Columbia journalism school for the summer. i'm basically just rory gilmore at this point. anywho...thank you for being patient with me. i love you all.

Vulnerability was not something you often expressed, and unfortunately, it opened a floodgate of emotions you weren't ready to approach. Every night that passed was plagued with the same sly grin or those mischievous green eyes. You felt yourself going crazy, waking up with a beating heart and shaky hands. You needed to get your act together and fast. Even your family was starting to notice your strange behavior.

It was already evening, and you had another dreaded dance to attend. Apparently, there were professional dancers this time. Anything to entertain the Queen, of course. You stared at yourself in the mirror, a sage green dress hanging from your figure, delicate beads embellishing the bodice. With gentle hands, you also put on a golden locket, one of the last things you had of your mother. Sometimes, you wished it was societally appropriate for women to wear breeches. They were much more comfortable anyway and made for a better escape.

Ivy was already waiting in the carriage when you arrived. Grandmother liked to always take her own carriage, something you appreciated more often than not. It allowed you to be left alone with your own thoughts. You sighed deeply when your back hit the cushion, and the horses carried you off. Ivy shot you a look. 

"I thought you would be more excited to be seeing your lover," she cooed, slapping your knee playfully. 

"I find these events exhausting," You sighed, brushing your hair out of your face. "And he's not my lover."

"That's not what I've heard," Ivy said. "The grapevine whispers of an imminent engagement. I heard Grandmother discussing it with a representative from the Odinson home."

That was news. News that caused a pit in your stomach rather than butterflies. Marrying Thor was the goal, was it not? He was kind and respectful and would make a suitable husband. Still, you couldn't help but feel resent the idea. Ivy noticed the look on your face. 

"You don't want to marry him."

"I didn't say that," you tutted, folding your arms defensively. 

"It's evident by the sour look you wear," she frowned, but not from disappointment. More so, concern. “Y/N.”

"I will do my duty; is that clear?" You hissed. Any other person would've recoiled from your sharp tone, but Ivy had known you too long. She placed a hand over yours, every part soft and nurturing. 

"It is alright to say no," Ivy said softly. For the first time in a long while, she felt every bit your older sister and not the ditz your Grandmother loved to portray her as. "You have permission to say no."

You didn't get the chance to respond as the carriage pulled to a stop. Her words soothed your heart in a way you didn't expect. Permission to do something for yourself wasn't anything you'd heard before. It was always the expectation that you would protect your family and secure your future. No one had ever told you that you were allowed to choose otherwise. 

Entering the ballroom, cream gauze adorned the walls, accompanied by flickering candlelight. The mood was intimate, and everyone seemed to twinkle like the fountain in the middle. A performance was occurring with scantily clad dancers, but you weren't fazed. You're sure the ton would have something to say about it, though. Unlike them, you found being able to see their bodies to make the movements captivating, and you envied how they moved with such freedom. You were so enraptured by the dance that when you eventually noticed the Odinson brothers across the room, you froze up. Ivy hadn't left your side yet, and you grabbed her hand, hoping she'd stay by you. She gave you a worried look, but you ignored her. You were insanely nervous. If a proposal was imminent, then your anxiety was going to get the best of you. This is what you want; you kept chanting to yourself, hoping to believe it.

You saw Thor try to make his way over to you, and you quickly ducked behind a couple, dragging Ivy along with you. You kept finding ways to have someone blocking the path to you and the blond prince. At some point, you fetched a drink and had it in one go, smiling kindly at the waiter, who looked at you bewildered. You let Ivy's hand go when you reached for the drink, and she maneuvered off despite your protests. Hiding in the back, you allowed yourself to grab a second drink right as the dance ended. Unfortunately, that meant the path to you was straightforward, and Thor quickly approached. 

"M'Lady, it has been an adventure to reach you all night," he smiled. You quickly put the glass back on the tray and looked him in the eye. 

"Apologies, your grace, the…dance was quite enrapturing," you choked out, feigning a smile. 

"Dancing can be quite entertaining; I always fancy myself a dance with a beautiful woman when I can," Thor looked out to the crowd with his hands clasped, returning your gaze fondly. You heard the orchestra ready a waltz as Ivy walked close to you. You cut off Thor right as he was about to ask you to dance. 

"My sister is an excellent dancer; you should give her a twirl," you grabbed Ivy as she walked by, forcing her in Thor's direction and quickly maneuvering away. You couldn't deal with suitors at this point. That meant potential marriage proposals, and frankly, you were terrified at the prospect of getting proposed to right now. 

Your quick escape led to an unfortunate collision with the only other prince you were hoping to avoid– Loki. He stabilized you before quickly pulling his hand away as if you were a fire too hot to touch. His green eyes look at you inquisitive before his lips pull up into a smirk. 

"Running away from the ball? Scandolous." He cooed. Your brows draw down at his smirk, rolling your eyes. He gives a glance at the waltz. "Care to join me?"

"Excuse me?"

"Typically, when a gentleman asks you to dance, one answers' yes' or 'no,'" Loki chides. "So, care to join me?"

You paused, taking him in before giving him a slight nod. He extends his hand and leads you out onto the floor. You can feel Ivy's gaze on you, but you ignore her as you both bow to each other. The music starts, the cello reverberating through the room as you take the first step into the movements. Loki never takes his eyes off you, something that would unnerve you if you didn't live in a fantasy world. His eyes were a forest in which you could perpetually wander. His hands reached for yours, twirling you around before capturing you close. You felt your breath hitch at your proximity and, luckily, could move away before you showed how his presence affected you. When the dance ended, you bowed before leaving, looking for any exit outside. 

You sighed in relief as the cold air touched your skin, caressing your cheeks. You heard the door close behind you and couldn't tell who you hoped it would be more. 

"Lady Chilton," Thor's voice spoke, disturbing the quiet of the night. You turned around, taking in his gentle expression. 

"Your grace," you breathed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "You startled me."

"Thor, you can call me Thor," he chuckled, hands clasped behind his back. "I was hoping to talk to you." Your heartbeat picked up, but you nodded, brows furrowed. 

"You can always talk to me."

Thor pauses. 

"I had planned to ask for your hand in marriage."

Your brain processed his words. It took you a second for them to register. "You had planned?"

"It has nothing to do with your character," Thor reassured. "I find you quite intelligent."

"But you no longer plan to propose?"

"You don't want me to propose; I can see it clear as day," Thor, for his part, doesn't look upset. "I am not the one you want…I respect that."

"The one I want?"

"I admire you deeply, which is why all I wish for you is a love match," Thor smiled. "I never would've been able to keep up with your wit anyway."

"I'm…sorry for disappointing you," you say, feeling immense guilt. 

"You could never disappoint me, Miss Y/N," Thor smiles. You soften, taking in the tall prince. Thor was kind and gentle but masculine. You should be head over heels for him for all intents and purposes. But you just couldn't find yourself to feel that way. 

"I hope we can continue being friends," you say sadly. 

"I expect you will be more like family," he nods. "I wish you the best, Lady Chilton."

"Thor, I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"You will; my brother is not a patient man."

And with that, he left you alone in the courtyard. The door closed with a click, and an owl hooted overhead. The sky was a navy blue, the clouds obscuring the moon hanging over your head. As the breeze picked up and the leaves rustled, you pondered over Thor's parting words. 

My brother is not a patient man.

taglist: @gruftiela @eleniblue @iwrite-things @youneedanap @huntress-artemiss @linaax @pisces-celeste @marygoddessofmischief @saay-karani @choki.laufeyson @foxherder @lover-of-books-and-tea

[headnegressincharge]

BLACK FEMICIDE AWARENESS

From the Columbia University Mailman School of Pubilc Health; Black women in the U.S. were, on average, six times more likely to be murdered than their white peers for the years 1999 through 2020, according to an analysis of racial disparities in U.S. homicide rates by researchers at Columbia University Irving Medical Center and Columbia Mailman School of Public Health. The study indicates that Black women are more likely than white women to be killed by guns.

In 2020, around 1, 821 black women and girls had their lives taken away from them. Studies show it's mostly done by someone they know such as family members and partners.

Firearms are the main weapon used on the victims. From Connecticut Children's: Firearm violence has driven the homicide rates even further, with three-quarters of homicide victims dying of gunshot wounds. Awareness of this public health crisis has remained low among feminist movements, news media, law enforcement, and community-based organizations.

Intimate Partner Violence Among Young Black Girls and Women: The leading cause for pregnant black women is murder...by their partners. Pregnant Black women are 11 times more likely to be victims of femicide, according to an article published in the journal Obstetrics & Gynecology. Pregnant-associated femicide refers to homicides of women during pregnancy or within one year of pregnancy.

[roseallisonparker]

I’m With You

I’m With You

Premise: soulmate!au, takes place in a world where when you first lay eyes on your soulmate, you see color for the first time.

Inspired by Avril Lavigne’s “I’m With You”

Pairing: Matt Murdock x gn!Reader

Word Count: 9.2K words

Warnings: a brief description of losing virginity, mentions of drinking, violence, fluff, angst with a happy ending, a tad bit canon non-compliant

Note: It’s taken me a few weeks to fully write this but please let me know what you think! I’ve never written for this fandom even though I’ve loved it for years. I hope y’all enjoy. Special thanks to my sisters, my friends, and the mutuals here on this site that constantly inspire me with their talent every day.

Taglist: @mattsgirlsworld @stilldreaming666 @hellskitchens-whore @bellaxgiornata @acharliecoxedfan​

I’m standing on a bridge,

I’m waitin’ in the dark,

I thought that you’d be here by now…

There’s nothing but the rain,

No footsteps on the ground,

I’m listening but there’s no sound…

Wandering aimlessly in the rain through the city's wet streets felt like the best way to clear your head from the overwhelming loneliness that arrived with your final few months of college. The party you were just at was raving with energy from a successful finals week, but seeing all of your friends celebrate the end of this chapter in life with their partners had begun to burn a hole deep in your once hopeful heart.

Growing up, you had always imagined you’d find your soulmate in middle school like your parents had. They had run into each other in the cafeteria on their first day and had finally seen each other, their worlds blossoming with their first glimpses of color. The telltale sign that they had met their soulmate. You would fall asleep to this story they had shared with you running over and over in your mind, ideas of that rainbow-filled time of your life coming true fueling your sweet dreams.

The first day of sixth grade was filled with so much excitement. You had dressed well, eyes bright with hope as you walked into the first class on your schedule, awaiting the moment when you would finally see the world turn from dull greys into bright hues.

Nothing happened that day. You had hoped for the next few days that you would finally meet him, that you had missed him in the cafeteria.

Days became weeks. Weeks became months. Months became years.

Isn’t anyone tryin’ to find me?

Won’t somebody come take me home?

Moving to New York was an easy choice for you. After all of high school had passed without ever finding your soulmate, you decided that living in a city with a high density of population mixed with a large tourist rate would be your next course of action. Getting accepted into Columbia University with a scholarship was the perfect catalyst for you to pack your things, stuff them into a Uhaul, and drive down the highway until you reached the bustling island of Manhattan.

You chose Journalism last minute as your major but lacked the enthusiasm for it until you realized just how many people you would meet and the endless number of stories you would hear from those with similar experiences to yours. It helped lessen the loneliness and disappointment you experienced and strengthened your optimism. Investigative work became something you were fond of as well. Discovering the truth and using your resources to find the answers you craved was a skill you ended up being quite competent at.

In an effort to increase your chances of seeing your soulmate, every day you’d made it part of your schedule to take a walk around the surrounding neighborhood in the Upper West Side, scanning over every single person’s face, yearning to see the sky transform into the blue color you were told it was. 

One day during your sophomore year, you were taking one of those walks with your classmate Diane, the both of you blabbering about mindless things, making your way to your next lecture. 

“No, but Professor Stevens has to have it out for me! I swear, it’s gonna be impossible to pass.” You complained while the setting sun felt warm on your cheeks.

“Oh, I’m gonna place bets on that.” She teased, nudging into your shoulder. “Don’t let me down, babe.” She jokingly pleaded, the both of you laughing when suddenly she looked ahead and gasped. You froze, thinking something was wrong but you followed her eyeline to see another woman staring back at her with the same awe-struck gaze.

You’d never seen it happen before. That all-too-important moment when two soulmates found each other was something you hadn’t been fated to see yet. But here it was, and wasn’t it a sight to behold. You captured every look on Diane’s face, the wonder that washed over her features as her eyes flitted over everything surrounding her. Her smile was beaming. Almost unknowingly, she slowly pattered over to her soulmate, the other woman looking at Diane like she was the only other person in this world.

It was truly a beautiful sight, and yet you couldn’t help but feel the envy crushing your spirit unlike it had before.

Your senior year of college arrived quickly considering just how much studying you felt like you’d done in the past few years. The first day of classes for your second to last semester came around and you had to add extra credit to your transcript, choosing the most far-fetched language Columbia had to offer: Punjabi.

It wasn’t your first choice, but you were already set on Spanish, French, and Italian 101 courses, so Punjabi it was. The lecture hall assigned for the class was small, and you chose a seat in the back.  A few other students were quietly filing in, and you still had a few minutes to spare, so you got around to taking out your notebooks. The door to the room opened, and a loud voice accompanied the action. A student with shoulder-length blond hair, a cross-body bag, and a big, infectious smile spoke to someone down the hall.

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll thank me later for this.” He dismissed the unseen person, their voice popping up next.

“Let me know if that girl ends up asking for your number, Fog.” The voice said. ‘Fog’ threw his hands out and shook his head.

“Shush, I’ll update you, Murdock.” ‘Fog’ loudly whispered, proceeding to close the door. He then turned around to face the room, every student including yourself staring at the mild commotion. Eyes widening slightly, he bowed his head and made his way to the seat beside yours in the back. Once he settled, you turned to him, curious.

“What girl?” You questioned in a whisper, your eyes scanning the small group of about fifteen students in front of you.

“Huh?” He squinted, confused.

“Which girl’s number are you hoping for?” You clarified, endlessly drawn toward love stories.

‘Fog’s’ gaze landed on a pretty girl seated at the front of the classroom, his eyes softening. “Her name is Charlotte,” His voice was quiet, sharing the secret with you, “She mentioned the class being on her schedule during a party. Thought she’d maybe ask to study or something…” He trailed off. Looking back up, he grinned at you. “What about you? Why’re you taking the class?” 

Foggy, whose name you properly learned shortly after your meeting, became your friend and study partner for the class after Charlotte started dating someone in her Sociology class. 

Punjabi was a complex language to learn and Foggy was sure to attend every class to make sure he didn’t miss anything. But one day, as class passed, he never showed. You shot him a quick text. U good? Missed u at class today.

You waited a few minutes, a reply popping in. Im downtown in the kitchen. Dad in hospital.

Your eyebrows furrowed in concern and you quickly typed out your response. srry. hope Dad is ok. I’ll drop off notes at dorm. Roommate in?

A minute passed, and another text appeared. Yes. tysm.

You made copies of your notes at the library and then headed to Foggy’s dorm, heading down the hallway towards his room, having never been in this particular building before. You made it to the door, and knocked quickly, calling into the room, “Hey, anyone in there?”

You heard some mixed giggling from a woman and the guy who you assumed was the roommate Foggy had spoken about. A loud bang came from inside the room followed by a few rushed footsteps, and the door quickly opened slightly, revealing said woman covered in only a button-down shirt. You felt heat rush up your face at the sight, clearly interrupting something. The beautiful woman smiled with mischief in her eyes, her panting breath puffing out of her.

“Can we help you?” She asked with her mildly accented voice, smooth and playful. You then heard a slightly familiar voice coming from deeper in the room.

“Elektra, who’s at the door?” The voice, which you assumed was coming from Foggy’s roommate, rumbled in the background. In a panic, embarrassment taking over, you quickly shoved the notes into her hands, not wanting to interrupt any more than you already had.

“These are for Foggy. Tell him I said ‘Hi’ and that I hope his dad is alright!” You squeaked out, quickly turning away and walking down the hallway and around the corner.

Matt had shuffled up to Elektra by the door, hearing your booming heartbeat and rushed footsteps heading out of the building. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he nuzzled his nose into her neck, breathing deeply. “Who was that?” 

He felt her shrug and heard her carelessly shuffling through the papers in her hands. “Looks like Punjabi…” She said offhandedly, turning into his arms, “Now… where were we?” They got lost in each other once again, the notes falling to the floor, forgotten.

It’s a damn cold night,

Trying to figure out this life,

Won’t you take me by the hand?

Take me somewhere new,

I don’t know who you are,

But I, I’m with you…

I’m with you…

You didn’t think you would ever come to this. You had spent every night walking around town, making sure your eyes met every face they could. You made the big move, you got an entry-level job at the Bulletin, a career that would help you constantly be around new people. And you had saved yourself in every way possible so that when the time came for you to finally meet and be with your soulmate, you could reassure yourself that it would be perfect. That he would have all of you.

But now you found yourself on a random guy’s couch, whiskey running through your veins, your pants on the floor, and your head spinning with the realization of what you had just done. 

You had been sitting in one of your low points, drinking your sorrows away at a dive bar around the corner. He had begun to hit on you and the sweet words coming out of his mouth sounded so lovely to your ears. His name was John. He had shared his loneliness, sensing the same coming from you. And he had asked if you wanted to head over to his place. You answered yes. One thing lead to another. He didn’t know it was your first time.

It was quick. You were both inebriated and once it was done, he had left to use the bathroom. The shame of feeling like you were cheating on your soulmate and the meaninglessness of the ordeal filled your mind quickly, and you shoved your pants back on, running out the door into the cold night. You threw up outside on the steps of the apartment, falling back and hugging your legs to your chest, crying into your knees at three in the morning.

You couldn’t live like this anymore.

Since you were a child you had been living for the idea of your soulmate. Everything from what you wore to school to your extracurriculars in high school, where you moved, which college you chose, and which major you picked.

It hurt, and it was exhausting how nothing amounted to your efforts.

One day, you decided. You were no longer going to live for your soulmate.

You would start living for yourself.

Being cuffed to a table wasn’t your idea of living for yourself.

The dim lights of the interrogation room filled you with anxiety when you wondered just how stupid it was you were even in there. You were getting close to a breakthrough in the illegal heroin distribution going on throughout the city. You finally got a name; “Steel Serpent.” You knew there had to be more beyond that, so you began investigating different leads on where production could be. It turns out, once you entered one of the empty warehouses on the pier, you gave the space a once over and found the small packet of the drug, the now familiar script on the front marking the brand you had been searching for.

Before you could even put away the evidence with your gloves to take it back to the authorities and the Bulletin, the doors to the building burst open, and two detectives with their guns drawn headed toward you quickly with handcuffs ready in their hands, reading your Miranda rights, not even saying what you were being detained for.

And that’s how you found yourself staring at your tired reflection in the mirror, refusing to say a word to Detective Blake.

On the other side of the double-sided mirror, stood two up-and-coming lawyers. Foggy was given another call from Brett Mahoney (those cigars he bought his mom were really paying off) and he recognized your name from the one class you had shared in college, and it had been quite a few years since you’d last seen each other. Matt stood to his left, speaking to the officer who had arrested you, wondering why this innocent investigative journalist was arrested for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Why are they being held here? On what charge did you arrest them?” Matt had asked Detective Hoffman with a bite in his tone, knowing this was the same corrupt detective who had arrested Karen just a few weeks ago. He knew something was up and that quite a few cops were dirty at this precinct, and possibly every other one in this city. 

Just before the two were to enter the room to assist you, Matt got a phone call on his other phone meant for his nightly duties. 

“Please, excuse me.” He quickly excused himself to go and pick it up, hearing Claire’s screaming in the background. The Russians had found her. “Claire?”

Her muffled yells sent an immediate chill down his spine, the devil itching to claw his way free to save her. He shut the phone in his hand, turning to his partner.

“Something’s come up,” He calmly told Foggy, “Let me know how this goes.” He left the precinct without waiting for an answer, trusting Foggy to take care of this situation. 

Little did you both know that you just had your second close call for finally meeting your soulmate. 

When Matt lost his sight, one of the first things he mourned was how he would never get to know what color looked like. His memory of the world was bleak and grey, but when his senses started to kick in and paint a picture of the city around him, the world on fire was the best he would ever get. 

One night, after the accident, Jack Murdock sat with Matt as his son stitched up his wounds from a fight.

“Matty… have I ever told you about how I met my soulmate?” Jack asked softly, knowing the answer to the question, but sensing that his son would benefit from hearing about it.

“No, Dad. You haven’t.” Matt responded, feeling around his father’s forehead for the rest of the gash he was closing up, his usual swig of whiskey soothing the shakes in his hands.

“Well, it wasn’t a huge moment like you may have heard people say it is-” Jack winced as the needle entered his skin, “But it was magical.”

Matt’s hand froze, “Magical?” He parroted, intrigued. Jack nodded.

“It was about eight, no, nine years ago, and I was fighting in the ring of course. It was an open fight, and I didn’t have anyone to back me up when I was in the corner. A break between rounds came and I looked into the crowd.” His voice softened as he reminisced, encouraging his son’s hands to keep up their work.

“Your mother was there, looking at me, and the room was overwhelming me with all of the sudden color. But the timer was ticking, and I didn’t have time. I waved her over and asked for her help. To just clean my wounds and squeeze the water into my mouth. And even though the moment came and went, we both knew…” Jack trailed off. Matt finished tying off the last stitch, the quick pain snapping the older Murdock out of it.

“I was wearing red and yellow shorts that day, turns out. I stuck with them.” He finished.

It was the only time Jack had ever spoken about his soulmate. About Matt’s mother. 

When Elektra came into his life years later that night at the gala, they both knew they weren’t each other's soulmates. She had once told him that she thought she would never have one. And Matt resonated with that. He had once thought that God had punished him. That he was cursed. That he wouldn’t know he had a soulmate until they found him. 

But being with Elektra made him feel like he could go on through life without needing one. She saw that darkness in him and leeched it out, encouraging his dependency on her for making each day more bearable than the last. And when she faced him with the opportunity to finally get revenge on the man who ended his father’s life, Matt almost took it.

But his father didn’t want him fighting, let alone killing others. His father would’ve never wanted Matt to sin on his behalf. He couldn’t do it.

Even if he was fated to be damned to live life without his soulmate, he wouldn’t give God another reason to punish him. He’d at the very least have hope in that regard.

Turns out that simple false detainment without real cause was pretty illegal, and you were let out shortly after Foggy threatened to sue the NYPD, not only for your case but for a few others he had heard about. But it seemed even after you left the building with an old’s friend’s phone number and your freedom, you weren’t gonna be left off the hook that easily.

A few nights later on your way home late from the Bulletin, threatening footsteps were closing in from behind you, making your heart rate spike, your chest tightening in preparation for what was about to come. The man behind you had followed you for a few blocks and you had purposefully walked in a circle to affirm he was after you. Once the man had caught on, he decided to strike. And you were right because not even a second later were you shoved down into an alley, and a second man appeared from behind a dumpster. 

You screamed for help, your voice already hoarse from the tense energy you held in your body. You had landed on your hands and knees, feeling the asphalt scratch bloody wounds into your skin. You tried to scramble back up to run, but the second assailant had wrenched your arm to the side, pulling you into the brick wall of the building adjacent. Your head hit the wall first, immediate stars blinding your vision (definitely a concussion) and you heard their footsteps coming closer, your leg instinctively kicking out and making contact with one of them. They grumbled in pain but you weren’t strong enough, another helpless scream coming out of you. 

“Anyone, help me!” You screeched until you felt a knife placed against your throat. You immediately stilled and your breath hitched in your throat. They were speaking in a language you didn’t understand (it could’ve been Russian?) and you sent a quick prayer to the universe, feeling yourself calm down as you slowly accepted that you were probably not gonna make it out. Just as you closed your eyes you felt the man holding you shift to the side, the metal against your neck disappearing, the sounds of punches and grunts filling the alley. Another person had joined the altercation, but for the better, because it seemed like they were saving you. You kept your eyes closed, your knees giving out, falling to the ground. 

You huddled in on yourself, feeling a panic attack coming along as you reeling from the realization that you thought you were ready to die. 

You weren’t. Not really. 

And it baffled and scared you at how easily you gave up the fight.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realize the sounds of attack had stopped, the only things you could make out were the sound of your heart pounding in your ears and the sound of heaving and panting coming from someone near you. You looked up to see him, a yelp coming out of your throat.

His chin was red with blood.

Red with blood.

Red.

Red blood. Faded orange lights coming from the streetlamps by the sidewalk. A dark blue dumpster. A green flyer for a dry cleaning service on the asphalt.

“Oh my god-” You let out in awe, looking back at your soulmate. The man in black that had been wreaking havoc across Hell’s Kitchen. He was your soulmate. You finally found him. You already felt the tears of relief falling down your cheeks. You smiled up at him. “It’s you.”

But something was off. He just tilted his head, as though he was listening for something. He wasn’t excited, surprised, happy. There was nothing to show that he was also going through the incredible moment of finding his soulmate. 

“Why are the Russians after you?” He gruffed out.

Your heart fell to your chest. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. You’ve dreamt of this moment for your whole life, awaiting that time when you could continue through your new colorful existence hand in hand with your soulmate. And he was acting like not a single thing in his world had changed. Your chest began to clench with dread. 

You stuttered out a confused answer, your tears now coming down your face for a different reason, “I-I don’t know why… Russians? I was investigating heroin leads and money laundering schemes…” Your voice was losing energy, your eyes searching the man in black for any sign that his life was changed as much as yours just was. Your chest felt like it could concave on itself with disappointment.

He just nodded, his head tilting once more, as though he was hearing something you couldn’t, and then he began to walk toward the darkness. “Take a cab home.” He gruffly said, walking away from you, and disappearing into the night.

You watched as your soulmate left you on the floor of the alley, bodies strewn on the ground beaten and bleeding. Your heart joins them there. 

He heard your screams from a few blocks away and started running on the rooftop, quickly making his way over and under any obstacle in his way. He could recognize the Russian coming out of your assailants’ mouths and could hear the knife’s sharp edge scratching against your throat. Matt leaped from above onto the first man, taking him down to the ground, but felt the second snap into action and pull him off of his partner. 

You had huddled down on the ground a few feet away, so Matt head-butted the second Russian, kicking the first in the chin. He could all of a sudden hear your heartbeat getting way too fast, and it distracted him for a moment, one of the assailants getting an uppercut in. Matt felt blood rush into his mouth, so he spat it out, blood dripping down his chin. Fueled by the pain, he made quick work of knocking the both of them out, his attention turning to you. 

He heard your breath stutter, and your heart race once again, assuming that you were looking at him. He could taste the salt from your tears and the fear in the air. You finally spoke, “Oh my god… it’s you.”

He knew the man in black was being spoken about across Hell’s Kitchen, with residents fearing his wrath. But you didn’t seem scared. He guessed you were thankful from the sound of your smile in your words. 

But he had questions he needed answered. “Why are the Russians after you?” He’d asked.

He could hear the confusion in your voice when you answered, and even though your heart was still racing, it wasn’t skipping with any lies. You truly didn’t understand why you were being targeted. He nodded and realized he wouldn’t get much out of you. Before he could ask if you were alright, he heard some more cries for help in the distance. 

“Take a cab home.” He muttered, swiftly disappearing deeper into the alley, making his way towards the violence he craved, violence that would soothe the devil that resided inside of him. He made a mental note to call the police as soon as he got the chance to report the two bodies he left there and moved on with his night.

After Ben Urich’s murder, you had officially stopped all leads you were chasing, too fearful for your life in case you were close to cracking something open. But low and behold, with the newly named Daredevil to thank, Fisk was in prison, those involved in the money laundering schemes were arrested, and the dirty cops that had plagued the NYPD were out and gone for good.

You had decided to make a quick visit to Nelson and Murdock to thank and congratulate Foggy on his win. You appreciated the new signage and made your way into the building, knocking on their labeled door twice before entering, being greeted by the sight of a blonde woman at the desk in the center of the room. She stood up and smiled at you, “Hi there, welcome.”

You smiled in response, stating your name. “I’m looking for Foggy, is he here?”

You heard quick footsteps coming from behind the office door and Foggy burst through, his arms outstretched, a wide grin on his face. “I thought I recognized your voice.” He walked up to you and you hugged him in a greeting.

“It’s so good to see you now that everything had settled down.” You said, pulling away and giving him a friendly smile.

“It’s good to see you, too.” He then gestured towards the woman who had initially greeted you, “Please meet Karen, our lovely secretary here at Nelson and Murdock.” You shared your name and shook Karen’s outstretched hand, her energy exuding kindness and beauty.

“Pleasure to meet you. Would you like some coffee?” Karen offered.

“Oh, sure! Thanks.” You gratefully responded. You reached into your bag fishing for the item you brought as you directed your question towards Foggy, “I’ve never met ‘Murdock’, by the way. Is he in?”

“Yes, he is.” You heard a new voice come from the office on the left, a man in a grey suit, red glasses, and a white cane stood in the doorway to what you presumed was his office. He made his way over to the two of you, his hand outreached. “Matt Murdock. I wanted to apologize for my absence when helping you get out of that situation a few weeks ago.”

His hand was warm in yours, his voice was deep and inviting, and his smile was downright gorgeous. You immediately felt a strange pull towards him. You played it off as common attraction, which Matt seemed to emit naturally.

“I finally get to meet you after all this time. You were Foggy’s roommate in college, right?” You remembered briefly running into his lover as you were dropping off homework and notes for Foggy when he was out for a day. Definitely not your proudest moment. 

“Yeah, we got lucky with that, didn’t we, Fog?” Matt smirked in the direction of his friend, the two of them obviously the closest of friends. During this, you finally found the piece of paper in your bag just as Karen came back out with your coffee. “You seem like two creams, two sugars.” She said, guessing correctly. 

“Yeah, thanks.” You giggled, holding the piece of paper out to the three of them. “So, I never did pay you back for helping me out.” Foggy began to open his mouth to protest the check in your hand, but you insisted. “No, please, that was a really scary time you helped me through and you deserve the compensation for your work.” You then handed the check to Karen, who gasped when she saw the contents of it. 

Matt spoke up, “What does it say?”

Karen exclaimed, “Ten thousand dollars!” Everyone’s eyebrows rose in disbelief, and you just nodded and chuckled at their reactions. 

“I genuinely had so many savings in the bank and saw how much you guys love this city and how hard you’d work to make sure justice was served.” You’d explained, their faces still full of shock, “Not many firms can say the same.”

Foggy shook his head, “But why so much for about two hours of work?”

“Well, if it’s too much for your services, then think of me as your investor!” You took a look around, taking a quick sip from your coffee, noticing the simple state of the office space. “No offense, but maybe it could help this place feel like an actual attorney’s office?”

Josie’s was not too packed for a Friday night, and when Foggy had reached out inviting you to drinks with the rest of the firm, you accepted, hoping to drink away the loss of your soulmate. Not that anyone knew who your soulmate was. No, every time you saw Daredevil mentioned in your coworker’s piece for the week or his name splashed across the tv every other night on the news, you kept your misfortune to yourself.

It hurt. Being left there on the ground of the alley after the life-altering moment of seeing the world bloom with its bright hues. You couldn’t sleep that night and stayed up to watch the sunrise. You saw the sky blossom with purples, pinks, yellows, oranges, and blues. The sky was something you didn’t care to look at often unless it was to see if rain clouds were coming in. Now you craved the view of a crystal clear sky next to the vivid trees on the sidewalk.

With a glass of whiskey swirling in your hand, you zoned out from the different conversations at the table.  Karen was seated next to you, with Matt and Foggy opposite of you. You didn’t know how long you were silent for, pondering over just how shitty you felt when you felt a knee nudge against your leg from under the table. You looked up and caught Matt’s gaze directed towards you, his eyes hidden behind his glasses as usual. 

“Everything alright over there?” He had quietly asked, trying to not interrupt the animated conversation Foggy and Karen were having. You took a deep breath, trying to live a little more in the moment.

“Uh… yeah.” You muttered. 

“You sure? Anything on your mind you wanna talk about?” He offered. His red glasses reminded you of the blood on your soulmate’s fists. You felt a pang in your heart. 

“Maybe later.” You acquiesced. You threw back the rest of your drink and caught Matt's grimace from the corner of your eye. Your glass made a solid thud as it landed back on the table.

“Anyone wants another drink?” You asked.

You definitely needed another drink.

“And so, Matt and I walk into the conference room, most of the interns are in there already because someone’s alarm wasn’t set.” Foggy accused pointedly at his friend.

“Typical Matt Murdock.” Karen chimed in.

Matt shrugged in a ‘what can you do’ way. 

“And in the rush, all of a sudden I noticed her pink blouse. Pink! Marci was sitting there, not even looking up at me while my whole world changed. Matt was so confused why I stopped walking, he asked if we were in the wrong room, and when she heard that and looked up…” Foggy’s gaze when thinking about the memory was so fond and lovestruck.

You and Karen shared an awed gaze, reveling in Foggy’s clear emotion.

“I remember her gasp and that look in her beautiful eyes… well, the rest is history. We did have a few bumps in the road, but we eventually made it out the other end together.”

“Yeah, you did.” Matt agreed.

"Still can’t believe I got so lucky.” Foggy laughed in disbelief.

“That was a beautiful way to meet your soulmate.” You complimented. You were happy for your friend, but your voice was a little slur, the liquor you had throughout the night building armor around your heart which was useful since you were hearing someone’s normal experience when meeting their soulmate.

Karen sighed, her shoulders slumping a little in disappointment, swirling around the beer in her bottle, “You’re the only one out of all of us Fog, we’ll live through you for now.”

“He’s not the only one-“ You blurted.

You weren’t supposed to say that.

Whoops.

You felt everyone’s eyes turn towards you, their wide-eyed stares ranging from shock and excitement to confusion.

“Why haven’t you told us, what-?” Karen exclaimed.

“Oh my god, when did this happen?” Matt asked.

“And this important fact wasn’t mentioned?” Foggy complained.

“Woah, woah guys.” You shook your head, their questions hitting you quickly, but being drunk did a horrible job of keeping a lid on your information. “I didn’t tell you guys- well, I haven’t told anyone actually- because my soulmate rejected me.” You said factually, trying to not let the emotion slip in, but failing.

Your friends deflated, Karen then taking the lead. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. You must’ve been so hurt.”

“Well, it was a few weeks ago and I’m genuinely considering the theory that maybe I wasn’t rejected.” You felt tears well up in your eyes. "Maybe something is wrong with me and I wasn’t his soulmate. Maybe I’m nobody’s soulmate.”

You felt Matt’s hand touch yours on the table, a sympathetic expression directed toward you. Karen also rubbed your arm in comfort. Your grin was sad and pitiful.

“Who is the guy? Have you tried contacting him again or something?” Foggy piped up, his genuine need to help others so clear at that moment.

You shook your head, a delirious, helpless laugh coming out of you, “I can’t contact him, it’s impossible.”

“We can help. Just give us a name and we can get to the bottom of this.” Matt encouraged you.

You felt insane with your next words. “Well, if you can contact Daredevil, let me know.”

Everyone froze again, but for some reason, the air felt incredibly tense. Matt and Karen’s comforting gestures stiffened, and Foggy’s eyes wandered quickly around the table, something akin to fear and shock in his eyes. You took the sudden silence for agreement.

“See, told you. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen left me on the floor of an alley after he saw me.” You felt a small sob bubble up in your throat, “My life in an instant had finally changed for the better, and he didn’t even give a hint that his had changed as well.” You dropped your head into your hands, trying to shake the sadness out of you.

“I’m so sorry to bring the mood down, guys. Forget I said anything, please. I don’t wanna think about this anymore.” You pushed out of your chair with a screech and began to go to the restroom, not looking up to see their faces. “I’ll be right back.” You muttered.

Once you closed the door behind you, you felt the tears quickly coming back, the embarrassment of your story hitting you. You felt their stares and knew that Nelson, Murdock, and Page were a supportive group of people but you couldn’t tell if they believed you or not. Their reactions to your soulmate’s identity were confusing and hard to decipher, but the pain and helplessness of your situation came back in full swing once you finally let it out and told them. It felt freeing yet shameful simultaneously and the mix of emotions threw you for a whirlwind.

You quickly splashed some water from the sink onto your face, washing away the tear tracks, and rolled your shoulders back, hoping to walk out ready to end the night on a high note. Giving yourself one more look over, you walked back out to the busy bar, watching your three friends speaking very animatedly to each other, Karen and Foggy seeming like they were talking to Matt while he was just sitting there looking a little dumbfounded. Probably something that happened while you were gone.

You pulled back up to your seat, smiling at the group, “So, what did I miss?” You looked over their faces, silence filling the space once more. Matt’s face had lost a significant amount of color. “And why do you look like you’re gonna faint, Murdock?” Matt barely opened his mouth when he was interrupted.

“Oh, he’s fine. Karen and I were talking about the dreadful upcoming election…” Foggy interjected.

And the conversation about your soulmate was forgotten.

Or so you thought.

He had left them there.

He had found his soulmate and he was too distracted to even notice.

‘Well, if you can contact Daredevil, let me know.’

He was in too much of a shock when you said those words. He froze. He could barely think. And his friends didn’t know what to say either. The minute you had gotten up to head to the bathroom, they bombarded him.

“Matt, what the fuck-?” Karen started.

“How did you not know?” Foggy was baffled.

“-How could you leave them in an alley?” Karen was pissed.

“I could’ve sworn you both had met in college. How did they meet Daredevil before Matt Murdock?” Foggy’s harsh whisper-yell filled Matt with a confusing sense of shame.

“I don’t think we ever had the chance, I-” The guilt began to eat him alive. “I was following a lead on the Russians and heard two of their assailants attacking so I saved them but I couldn’t hang around.”

“Matt, they think their soulmate doesn’t want them. Hell, you now know you have one!” Karen exclaimed, trying to find a solution to this seemingly huge problem. “I don’t want to tell you what to do since it’s your identity on the line, but you should tell them.”

“Dude, she was heartbroken,” Foggy added, not quite forgetting just how messed up you looked like you felt.

“I didn’t notice in that alley…” Matt muttered in disbelief but suddenly remembered your words from that night.

‘It’s you.’

You had tried to tell him. It was quick and easily a misunderstanding, but he didn’t sense how devastated you were when he was leaving. And you of course didn’t know that Daredevil was actually blind and couldn’t see so you mistook his lack of reaction for both of the worst-case scenarios possible.

God, how could Matt ever reject you when you’re what he’s been waiting for his whole life?

He had given up hope for years, settled for less, and pushed relationships away through self-sabotage because nothing ever felt quite right. It was really just his luck that he’d met you in the way he did, in a way that would mess up everything.

You returned to the group, your heart beating steadily in your chest, and in an overwhelming realization, the sound became the most important thing to him. Your voice was a treasure, and your scent was cherished, your presence was all-consuming. In an instant, it was like all of his senses were attuned to you, and Matt didn’t know what to do about it but run.

Quickly finding his voice, he interrupted, “I’m gonna head home for the night guys.” Gathering his coat and briefcase in his arms, he then turned to you.

“I’ll see you again next week?” He carefully questioned. He heard your heart skip at the question, pleased that it seemed something about you was tuned to him as well.

“Yeah… for sure, yeah.” You nodded, your breath hitching when you realized he was speaking to you specifically. You wished you could see his eyes from behind his glasses because something was telling you that his gaze was deeper than it had been. Or maybe it was the alcohol.

He grinned with tight lips and took a breath to say something, but stopped himself, shaking his head and going for a simple, “Good night.” Matt walked out of the bar, leaving you echoing the sentiment as you wondered why Foggy and Karen were giving you strange looks and why Matt had suddenly left you craving more of him than ever before.

‘Next week’ came two nights later in the form of a visitor you weren’t expecting.

Even with the streets of Hell’s Kitchen feeling safer than they did before, your hand was in your bag, keeping firm contact around your taser. You made it around the corner of your block, the flickering street lamps unsettling you, when a clang from above frightened you.

Quickly looking up, you saw a shadowed figure on the fire escape above, your stomach dropping to the floor, fear flooding your system. A scream began to bubble out of your throat when the figure leaped from the platform, but it was quickly paused when you caught sight of the short horns, the deep maroon of the suit recognizable. You flinched and took a few steps back, startled by the sight of your soulmate and confused why he was there in front of you.

“What do you want?” Your words were cold and questioning, the weeks of pent-up pain and betrayal fueling the anger behind your question. Daredevil flinched at the sound, his voice gruff as he spoke.

“Can we talk somewhere private?” He requested. Your eyebrows furrowed in curiosity, and your anger almost made you refuse him immediately. But you couldn’t deny the need to hear what he had to say, to understand why he didn’t want you even if the answers hurt you.

“My apartment is a few buildings down. You’re welcome to come up, but I don’t think there’s a way my neighbors won’t see you.” You offered nervously, wringing your hands together after a sudden bout of anxiety. Daredevil gently nodded.

“They won’t see me.” He responded softly, moving into the alley nearby.

“But it’s this way-” You gestured to your right, confused.

“I’ll be there.” He assured, slipping into the darkness.

You stood there for a few moments, dumbfounded, but made your way to your building, trying to tame the anticipation building in your heart. Once you locked your apartment door, you set your bag down and walked further into the living space, waiting for the sign of your soulmate’s arrival. 

A few knocks on the window to your left made you jump, the figure on the fire escape giving a small wave. You walked over, unlocking and opening the window. 

“So that’s what you meant, huh?” You teased as you backed away, and the absurdity of the moment made you laugh with a hint of shock, especially when you took in the sight of The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen standing next to your couch. He chuckled as he closed the window, the sound pleasing to your ears. But you sobered up very quickly, clearing your throat and settling on the couch, taking the initiative, “What do you want to say?”

He took a deep breath, his body language a little shy, and nodded, “Well, I’d like to explain myself… and tell you how sorry I am for what I must’ve put you through-”

“Why?” You interrupted.

He stood bewildered “Why am I sorry-?” 

“No, why did you leave me there?” You stood, the built-up frustration flowing out, “Did you not want me? Are you already with someone else?” Your voice quivered a bit, tears beginning to well up in your eyes.

He whispered your name and shook his head, taking a few steps closer.

“Why did you act like nothing happened, like it wasn’t the best moment of your life-?” 

“I didn’t know!” He exclaimed, his hands reaching out helplessly.

You froze. “What?” 

“I didn’t know… I couldn’t have.” He explained as he stepped closer, and you couldn’t help but let him.

“What are you talking about?” You asked, confused as ever.

“I… I’m…” He stuttered as he struggled with his next decision.

“You’re what?” You implored, not quite expecting what came next.

He ripped his mask off, and suddenly you were staring into Matt Murdock’s eyes for the first time, his gaze landing around your shoulder. His breathing was heavy and yours felt stuck in your throat.

“Oh.” You muttered, your knees feeling a little weak at the onslaught of information that you just absorbed. You took your seat on the couch once more, not trusting your legs to hold you up. 

Matt stood still as his eyes begged for understanding, “Please tell me you’ve realized why I didn’t treat you like you deserved.” He spoke quietly, slowly walking to where you sat, kneeling on the floor by you, “If I had known, I would’ve gotten down on my knees and thanked God for your existence…”

The tears in your eyes overflowed at the sight of your soulmate in front of you. He gently rested his hands on the sides of your knees and reverently placed his lips against them, next reaching for your trembling hands to hold them in his own.

“I would’ve kissed your hands, and asked for your name…” He continued, and you noticed the shine in his eyes, your hand squeezing his in return, as his gaze pleaded for mercy, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” He whimpered guiltily.

“Matt…” You whispered as your palm laid on his stubbled cheek, “I understand.” It all made sense now, and you felt the anger and hurt slowly leave your soul. You comfortingly kissed his temple and rested your foreheads together, a small smile gracing your face. “I forgive you.”

His lips quivered in relief, your cheek being caressed by the back of his hand. “I don’t deserve you.” He breathed out your name like a prayer, his head bowing down before he wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing his ear to your chest, the beating of your heart sounding so sweet from that close. Your hands felt for his shoulders as you embraced him, pressing another kiss to the top of his head, reaching to run your fingers through his mussed-up hair.

Matt shuddered at the feeling of your hands on his back and craved more, pulling away and leaning closer to you, his digits running over your lips, “May I?” He hoarsely whispered.

He felt you nod, your voice breathless as you pleaded, “Please.” 

And his mouth met yours, your lips curiously getting acquainted with each other. Your sharp intake of breath at the sensation of the kiss encouraged Matt to lead with all the passion he felt. You leaned further into him, taking and giving as the sensations almost overwhelmed the both of you. Nothing had ever felt this right in your life.

He slowly raised over you, adjusting both of your bodies lengthwise om the couch, your hands running over the hard planes of the suit, his lips still connected with yours, a certain heat expressed in his movements. You pulled away, panting, running your fingers over Matt’s face, admiring him.

“You’re so beautiful,” You softly spoke as your breath mingled with puffs of air, your nose nudging into his, and your eyes closed as he guided his lips over your features, worshipping every part of you. You wrapped your arms around his figure, shuddering when his hips pressed into yours, his stubble rasping against your neck. “And we should take this slow.”

He took your suggestion literally, slowing his intent kisses, pulling himself up to his hands, “Would you like to stop?” He asked with concern, his eyes still glazed with an emotion you knew you matched.

You nodded. “Yes, please.” He began to sit up, but you grabbed his hand before he could fully get off the couch, “I don’t want you to leave.”

A soft smile graced his features, the fond look directed towards you causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach. He squeezed your hand in return, “Would you like me to stay?”

“I would love for you to stay the night…” You lowered your head in mild embarrassment, “I’m not ready to let you go yet.” You admitted.

He shook his head in agreement. “Where’s your bathroom so I can get out of this?” He gestured to his suit, and you giggled as you pointed to the far end of the room.

“It’s over there.” You told him, and he began walking, awe filling your brain as you tried to wrap your head around how he did what he could. “How do you do… everything you do?” You struggled with how to explain his nightly duties.

“Well, for one, I wasn’t born blind.” He started, not closing the door or turning on the light in the bathroom as he began to strip the suit off. “I lost my sight when I was eight in an accident where chemicals spilled into my eyes. My senses became incredibly heightened and I was trained by someone like me to hone in on them and use them to fight.” He explained his past and his abilities and you tried your best to not to stare at his bare chest through the dimly lit space, his chest piece off and on the ground.

“Your senses? Like, echolocation?” You questioned as you moved into your bedroom to change into more comfortable clothes yourself.

“Well, yes, but it’s not just my hearing that’s amplified, it’s everything else as well.” Matt’s voice sounded closer to bedroom, and you froze at his words.

“Everything else?” You nervously inquired, pausing at your drawer as you looked for a shirt that could fit Matt.

“You had sushi earlier today from that shop down the street. You’ve got eggs, leftover rice, garlic, and an onion in your fridge.” He took a few steps closer to your bedroom. “I can hear your neighbors on the first floor watching Jeopardy. And your heart is pounding.” You could hear the smirk in his words, and turned around to see him clad in only black compression shorts, feeling your heart race some more.

Matt moved his way closer into the room, continuing his list of things, “I can tell your shampoo has tea tree oil and the scent of it is fresh in your hair, so I’m assuming you washed your hair either this morning or last night.”

“Last night,” You confirmed, your eyes wide at the impressiveness of the information he was providing you with, your voice stuttering nervously, “S-so you really can sense everything, huh?”

He nodded with a cocky smile, pausing a few feet away from you. God, he looks glorious, you thought.

“Does that make you nervous, sweetheart?” He teased.

“No!” You lied, feeling so nervous with your really attractive soulmate just a few steps away from you calling you such a sweet name.

“Are you sure?” He asked, closing the space in between the two of you, your change of clothes and the shirt you found for him bundled up close to your chest. “I can also sense when people aren’t telling the truth, you know.” 

You anxiously giggled, shoving the shirt into his hands, walking around him and heading towards the bathroom to change for the night, “Uh… do Foggy and Karen know about your nightly duties?” You diverted, hoping to change the subject away from you.

Matt nodded, “Yeah… they didn’t find out in the best way” You detected disappointment and regret in his tone. “They don’t want me to be out there every night.” He admitted. 

“Because you get hurt?” You assumed, walking back into the living space where he was now clad in a shirt, waiting for you.

“I did… I do,” He looked down, guilt overshadowing his next words, “And I will get hurt. This isn’t something I can just stop-”

“Matt-” You interrupted him, sensing where he was going with this, and you walked up to him, resting your hand on his arm, “Is that what you want? To stop?”

He took a deep breath in, closing his eyes and shaking his head, “No. I don’t. I can’t stop.”

“Then don’t.” You said it like it was the simplest of solutions, and Matt was shocked by your generally calm and accepting reaction to his second life, “You’ve made a difference in Hell’s Kitchen, Matt. You’ve saved me amongst countless others when the law failed to.” You explained, finally able to express your gratitude for his selfless heroics. It became clear to you at that moment just how good of a person your soulmate was. Not only did he spend his days helping people without payment, using his knowledge of the law, but he also spent his nights saving those who were tormented by the evil that worked in the darkness.

You had always known that you would love your soulmate, but Matt was genuinely someone you could love not only because of who he was, but for the kind of person he was.

How did I get so lucky?

You looked down, continuing, “I don’t want to pretend like I won’t be nervous and worry about you when you’re out there, but please don’t feel like you have to change who you are. I want to be a safe place for you to be who you have to be.”

Matt simply wrapped his arms around you in response, trying to convey his appreciation for you with his tight, secure embrace. He sighed once more, tension leaving his body slowly as you ran your hands up and down his back.

“What did I do to deserve you?” He mumbled, but you quietly shushed him and place a small kiss on his cheek, grabbing his hands to lead him to bed. Once you were both settled, he nuzzled into your neck, the front of his body pressed against yours, your legs entwined.

You were silent for a few minutes when Matt interrupted the quiet, “I’m shocked you didn’t know the Russians were after you.”

You gasped in faux offense, “Woah, I was close to the heroin production sites and the script on the packets was in Mandarin! How was I supposed to know the Russian Mafia was connected?” Matt’s huffs of laughter warmed your heart, the feeling of cuddling with someone you were meant to care about filling you with happiness.

“I dunno, maybe Daredevil has to help this journalist once in a while to help connect the dots.” He jokingly suggested, rubbing his hands up your arms, his voice gruff with the late night.

You giggled, “I’ll take all the help I can get.” You closed your eyes, feeling sleep begin to overcome you.

“What are we gonna tell people when they ask how we met?” You asked, every bone in your body relishing how calm and content you finally felt.

Matt’s breath was warm against your ear when he sleepily replied. “We have the rest of our lives to figure that out.”

fin

[matan4il]

Daily update post:

Israel has reportedly killed Ahmed Ziam, a Hamas commander who was holding 1,000 Palestinians as hostages in the Rantisi hospital in Gaza, stopping them from evacuating to the south, so they can be used as human shields.

According to the Wall Street Journal, security sources have said that Hamas uses hospitals for military purposes, and that Israel will have a difficult time fighting in the area of the Shifa hospital, since there are likely hostages being held in the Hamas terror tunnel built underneath it. Today, Israel said that while battles are being conducted next to the hospital, civilians can evacuate from the eastern side.

An Israeli Ethiopian Jew speaks up:

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Tashager Araro (@blackjewishmagic)

Columbia university has suspended two anti-Israel student group through the end of the fall semester, for repeatedly violating university policies, including holding an unauthorized rally in which threatening rhetoric was used. This means for the time being, these groups will not be able to hold rallies on campus, or get funding.

In response to the Iranian attack drone striking an Israeli school from Syria, Israel has struck there last night. The strikes against Hezbollah have also intensified, as more rockets and drones from Lebanon attack Israel's north.

The Oct 7 massacre caused such environmental damage to the communities attacked, that experts are now warning against re-settling people there, without dealing with the toxic materials and waste left by the attacks.

This is Samer Talalkah:

He's a 24 years old Israeli Bedouin (Muslim Arab). He was about to get married this summer. His dad Fuad started building Samer and his bride a house in the vicinity of his own. Samer was kidnapped and is held hostage in Gaza. Fuad says he can't go on building. Every day he goes to the construction site, to sit there and cry. "I can hear him calling to me, asking where I am, why am I not helping him..."

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[soldan56]

La Columbia University vieta l'ingresso alla giornalista americano-palestinese Lama Al-Arian e le impedisce di coprire gli eventi del campus. Al-Arian ha vinto il premio DuPont 2022, assegnato dalla School of Journalism della Columbia University stessa. #UCLAProtest #DemocracyFailure